Belonging (10 page)

Oscar continued, “‘Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?’ / I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent / That murmur, soon replies, ‘God doth not need / Either man’s work or his own gifts. Who best / Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state / Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed, / And post o’er land and ocean without rest; / They also serve who only stand and wait.’”

Silence stretched between them for several seconds. Then she looked his way, and the crowd seemed to recede, leaving them alone in a small bubble of affinity.

“That was lovely, Mr. Jacobson.”

His grin returned, along with heightened color. “I’m right glad you liked it, Miz Summerville.”

She felt a sudden warmth in her own cheeks.

“Maybe sometime we could read poetry together.”

“I would like that,” she responded without hesitation, surprising herself.

Mother Summerville would never approve.

NINE

The first day of school began with an overcast sky and a noticeably cooler temperature. Hopefully it meant the children would be alert and eager to learn rather than lethargic due to the heat.

Felicia arrived at the schoolhouse more than an hour before time to ring the bell. Although she’d done a thorough cleaning the previous week, she quickly swept the floor and ran a cloth over the desktops to clean away more recent dust. Then she wrote her name on the blackboard in large letters. Ah, the satisfaction she felt at seeing it there. She’d waited too many years for this moment not to want to savor it.

“I told Colin … Mr. Murphy … that he needed to give you a chance before being so sure you wouldn’t be a good teacher.”

“I
will
be a good teacher,” she said aloud. “I
am
a good teacher. And I’ll make certain Mr. Murphy changes his tune.”

Felicia moved to a different section of the blackboard and wrote some math problems on it. This week, she would take the time to get to know her students better, to discover more of their strengths and weaknesses. If she understood them, it would help her impart to them a love of learning, a desire for knowledge. Perhaps she could help one of them become a great scientist or a revered physician or even a famous musician. Perhaps another would become a
renowned theologian or a sought-after orator. Education was the open door to a life they’d never before imagined.

After writing the day’s arithmetic lesson, she wrote reading words on a third section of the blackboard, starting with the simplest for the young children and working her way to the most difficult words for the older students. She prayed Miss Lucas had been a good teacher. She hoped her students would remember what they’d learned in this classroom prior to today.

According to Walter Swanson, Frenchman’s Bluff would be the first school in Idaho to adopt a nine-month school term. Among the first in the nation too. One more thing for Felicia to worry about. Many people were skeptical about the change, especially farmers who needed their sons at home during planting and harvesting. Would the parents and school board blame her if the children didn’t do as well under the new term? Well, she simply wouldn’t give them the chance to blame her. She would make certain
all
of her students thrived in their studies.

She set the chalk in the tray and brushed her hands together to wipe away the lingering white dust. Turning to face the classroom, she drew in a deep breath, checked the watch pinned to her bodice, and headed outside to ring the bell. Many children were already in the yard; others were hurrying toward the schoolhouse, lunch pails and slates in hand.

With a smile on her face, Felicia rang the bell for several seconds. All conversations ceased as the children fell into two orderly lines, one for boys and one for girls. For the most part, they stood in order of age and size, shortest in the front, tallest in the back.

“Come in, girls,” Felicia said.

As the girls filed past her, they made their manners with small curtsies. Whatever else Miss Lucas might or might not have accomplished as schoolmarm, it was apparent she’d instilled the proper decorum upon her students.

The boys came next, each of them bowing slightly at the waist as they went by, and once all of their lunch pails were on the shelves in the cloakroom and all the students stood beside their desks, Felicia made her way to the front of the class.

“Good morning, boys and girls.”

“Good morning, Miss Kristoffersen.”

She heard several children, especially the younger ones, stumble over her name. Perhaps she would do well to shorten it for their sakes. The sooner the better.

Turning toward the flag in the front right corner of the classroom, she placed her hand over her heart, waited a second for her students to do the same, then began reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. It was immediately followed by the Lord’s Prayer, all heads bowed and eyes closed.

As the “Amen” echoed around the room, Felicia told the children to be seated and then sat in her own chair. A quick glance confirmed that only two of the desks were unoccupied. That meant all nineteen of the students on the roster were present. It felt like a personal victory of sorts.

Thank You, God, that they all came. Help me to teach them well.

When she had completed taking the roll, Felicia rose to her feet once again and stepped to the side of her desk. “First of all, children, you have my permission to address me as Teacher or as Miss K.” She smiled at the younger students. “Today I want to learn more about you, more about how you are faring with your studies. And because I’m new to Frenchman’s Bluff, I want you to have an opportunity to get to know me as well. Much of what we cover today may seem simple and repetitious, but I hope it will prove helpful for all of us throughout this new school year.” She turned toward the blackboard. “We’ll begin with reading.”

The Franklin dairy farm was located southwest of Frenchman’s Bluff, an easy half-hour ride on horseback. Marcus Franklin had come west in the late 1860s. Failing to make his fortune panning for gold in the mountains of Idaho, he’d returned to the plains, bought land near the new township of Frenchman’s Bluff, and started his farm with half a dozen cows and a field of spring wheat. Many years later, his son, Randall, inherited one of the largest dairy farms in the state.

When Colin arrived at the Franklin place that afternoon, he found Randall on the shady side of the barn, cutting a board set on a pair of sawhorses. The moment he recognized Colin, Randall set aside the saw and walked toward his guest, wiping his hands on his overalls.

“Come to see that little mare I told you about on Sunday?” he asked.

“Thought it wouldn’t hurt to look. Charity’s been wanting a horse of her own, and her birthday’s coming up.” Colin stepped down from the saddle and wrapped the buckskin’s reins around a nearby hitching post.

“She’d be perfect for your girl.” Randall motioned for Colin to join him. “She’s around this way.”

The two men walked around to the opposite side of the barn. In a corral by herself was a small dun-colored mare with a long-flowing black mane and tail. At their approach, the mare lifted her head to look at them, ears cocked forward.

“How old is she?” Colin slid the gate lock back and stepped into the corral.

Randall stepped onto the bottom rail of the fence. “Eight years.”

The dun stood just shy of fourteen hands high, a good size for his daughter now and in the years to come. Colin ran his hand over
the mare’s withers and along the black stripe on her back. “How’d you come by her?”

“Took her in payment on a debt. But she’s too small for my boys, and my wife’s already got herself a good saddle horse. No point me keepin’ her. Figured I’d give you first look before I put her up for sale to all comers.”

“Appreciate it.” Colin walked around the back of the horse, eyeing the well-developed muscles of the mare’s hind quarters.

Randall stepped off the fence rail. “Let me get a halter, and you can see how she goes.”

“Thanks.” Colin moved to the mare’s head and stared into her dark eyes. She nickered softly as he stroked the bridge of her nose.

Charity would like her. There was no doubt about that. His daughter was partial to buckskins and duns, probably because he was. So unless he discovered something unexpected, he would buy the mare for Charity.

Half an hour later, Colin was the new owner of the dun. To seal the deal, the two friends settled onto a couple of chairs on the farmhouse’s front porch, with glasses of lemonade that Randall’s wife brought to them on a tray.

“So you’re taking the mare?” Ellen asked as she sat on a chair beside her husband.

Colin nodded. “Yep. She’s mine now. But I’m leaving her here until Charity’s birthday. I want it to be a surprise.”

“Perfect. She’ll be so excited.”

“That she will.”

“And we won’t mention to the boys that you came to look at the mare. We don’t want them spoiling the surprise by letting it slip at school.”

“Thanks.” He took a sip of lemonade. It was the perfect blend
of sweet and tart. Holding up the glass, he said, “This is good, Ellen.”

“Glad you like it.” She smiled, then took a deep breath and released it. “Oh my. I never can get used to how quiet it is around here when the boys are in school. I hope Miss Kristoffersen is managing well.”

Randall said, “It’s the last year for R. J. After this one”—he shrugged—“we’ve got a farm to run, and he’s old enough to learn what it means to run it. Not just help out.”

“You and R. J. think he’s ready to leave school.” The smile left Ellen’s face. “I’m not so sure. When Miss Kristoffersen visited us last week, she mentioned the possibility of college.”

Colin felt the friction between husband and wife. He suspected they’d argued more than once over this topic. Better be on his way, just in case they were about to argue again. He drained his glass with several big gulps and rose to his feet. “I’d best get back to the store instead of lollygagging around here. Thanks for the lemonade, Ellen. Randall, I’ll plan to bring Charity out after church on Sunday. I’ll tell her we’re coming for her birthday.”

“Why don’t you plan on Sunday dinner with us?” Ellen stood and took the empty glass from his hand. “I’ll bake a cake, and we’ll have a little celebration. I should have thought of it before.”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. I wasn’t wrangling for an invitation.”

“I know you weren’t.” She laughed, the anger gone from her eyes. “Besides, you and Charity aren’t any trouble. You’re practically family. You know that.”

Yes, he knew that. Without Randall and Ellen, he didn’t know what would have happened to him and Charity after Margaret died. They were the rocks he’d leaned on throughout those dark
days. They’d been his friends before. Afterward, they’d been so much more.

“Thanks, Ellen.” He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “We’ll plan on it, then.”

Felicia stood on the landing outside the school entrance and watched as her students scattered in all directions. Most of them left on foot, but some rode away on horseback. The latter were the boys and girls who lived farthest from town.

She couldn’t keep from smiling as she stood there, tired but happy. The first day had been, in her opinion, a complete success. She’d worried needlessly. She was going to get along famously with her students. Even Colin Murphy would be impressed if he could see her teach.

At the thought of her landlord, she tilted her chin in the air. He would have to eat his words to Kathleen. So help her, he would. Before this year was finished, he would be glad the school board had hired her to teach the children of Frenchman’s Bluff.

She returned indoors. Starting next week, she would assign some cleanup tasks to various students. But today she wanted to do it herself. There was nothing quite like mundane chores, such as cleaning blackboards, to allow one’s mind the freedom to be creative. And she wanted to be a creative teacher, one who made her students eager and excited to learn. Education could be so much more than memorization, recitation, and ciphering.

She would have little time to inspire her older students, such as Randall Franklin Jr., better known as R. J. A tall, good-looking boy of fifteen, R. J. had informed her on her visit to the Franklin home that this was his final year of formal schooling. He’d said it with pride, as if announcing he was a man, fully grown.